


blood and scars

by orphan_account



Category: Gorillaz
Genre: Drinking, Hurt/Comfort, Self-Harm, also sort of 2doc but not really ok, murdoc is having a bad time, sometimes you just need to cuddle with the homies, sort of???
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-07-16
Updated: 2020-07-16
Packaged: 2021-03-05 02:35:43
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,643
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/25306846
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orphan_account/pseuds/orphan_account
Summary: he’s not doing too well. phase 1.
Kudos: 18





	blood and scars

**Author's Note:**

> cw for graphic description of self harm !!

an all-too familiar burning sensation warmed murdoc’s throat as he took a swig of the liquor, unsteady on his feet. he was scarcely aware of the way the tile seemed warped around him, of how all the colors looked off and sounds were muffled.

stumbling, he seated himself on the edge of the rarely-used bathtub, rummaging around on the floor before grabbing a swiss army knife. with a little drunken effort, the blade revealed itself, and he eyed it carefully with shaky hands. in the past, he may have been scared to use it. intimidated, maybe. but now? not so much. he’d graduated from picking apart pencil sharpeners and purchasing 10-packs of razors long ago. it didn’t help that booze numbed the pain.

when he finally brought the sharp blade down on his thigh, it barely hurt. the pain wasn’t there at all, really. so he did it again, and again, and again, always quickly, never giving himself enough time to properly appreciate his work, lest he realize what he’s done and have to pause due to the shaking and dizziness. despite all his experience, he never did get past that. 

by the time murdoc’s finished, his skin is littered with long, slightly gaping cuts, the blood pooling, then streaming down his leg. it wasn’t deep enough to need stitches, no; despite how much he wanted to go deeper, he really didn’t fancy a trip to the ER at this hour of the night. still deep enough to satisfy, though.

he sighs, sets the knife down, admires them. giggling a bit, uncharacteristically. it was a strange sort of rush, and he always thought he was a bit sick for liking it as much as he did. 

well, maybe he was.

the bassist loved it though, and that was undeniable. the pain, the blood; the scars especially. sort of like a way to validify his struggles, sort of like a cry for help, in the off chance somebody notices them. he mostly just cut whenever he got the urge, or whenever he was having an episode and wanted to take it out on himself. he couldn’t fathom how anyone could stop, and frankly, he didn’t want to. talking about his feelings had never been a favorite pastime of his. therapy was off the table, it seemed. even then, no one could help him if he didn’t want to get better; and he was okay with that.

he thinks his bandmates do notice it, though, at least russel and 2d. not the cutting in particular, but whenever he was having a particularly bad week, despite how much he’d put the others though, they always seemed to catch on. russel would make it a point to check up on murdoc throughout the day, and instead of getting angry like usual, the bassist would just wave him off. 2d would invite him to watch a new zombie flick with him if he caught murdoc wandering the halls of kong, distracting him for a few hours. sometimes he’d catch them exchanging worried glances or stopping noodle from bugging him (as much as he loved her, she could be a bit of a handful at times). murdoc appreciated it. didn’t know how they’d react if they did know about it, though.

he snapped himself out of his thoughts, pressing on his thigh with a towel to clean up the blood, then running water over them. waiting for them to dry some more before pouring hydrogen peroxide on them. that was the extent of aftercare he did, anyways; he’d never had an infection scare before, surprisingly.

things are getting a bit blurrier, his vision spotting. he vaguely recalls falling back into something cold and a bit sticky.

—

after 13 hours of long, dreamless sleep of subpar quality, he’s awoken by someone knocking at the winnebago door. through the sleep haze, grogginess of his hangover, and dull ache in his left thigh, he doesn’t quite register it. throwing an arm over his eyes, he shifts into a slightly less uncomfortable position. whoever was there would probably leave soon enough.

apparently murdoc was very wrong, because moments later he faintly heard the click of a lock, and 2d’s voice flooded the small space. shocked into alert mode, since he was sitting in a tub filled with dried blood, nearly naked, and very, very hungover, he jolted upright, immediately regretting it. a wave of nausea hit him like a truck, and he just barely resisted the temptation to lay back down, if only because he didn’t want to drown in his own vomit or puke onto fresh cuts.

2d was calling his name from outside. 

now, this looked like it was making out to be a very bad situation, so he mentally braced himself, hauling himself out of the tub with shaky arms. immediately, he fell to his knees, grabbed onto the toilet. footsteps edging closer to the bathroom… yep, this is it. maybe he, internally, really did want help. maybe he was just too hungover to care. a bit of both, perhaps?

murdoc closed his eyes, rested his chin on the toilet seat. 2d was taking a while, he might be able to get a nap in. it was probably just him, though; hangovers always did seem to make reality warped, more so than being drunk did. never a pleasant experience. sometimes he thought he was losing his mind, and it wasn’t all that unlikely.

suddenly, a very tall figure with flashy blue hair appears in the doorway, freezes up, gasps.

the bassist supposed that 2d was a bit shocked and, well, he would be too. slowly, the younger man edges closer to murdoc, reaching out and setting a hand on his shoulder. he had to crane his neck up to make eye contact with 2d.

“Um, Murdoc? ‘re you alright?” 2d nudges the door closed behind him, crouching down to the older man’s level. fidgeting with his hands, nervous, presumably.

“What’s it look like, dents?” murdoc grumbled, resting his cheek against the cold ceramic.

“J-Just makin’ sure you aren’t dead,” 2d’s leaning to the right as he nervously laughs, looking over murdoc and surveying the surroundings. the various liquor bottles, the bloody blade. just to get an idea of what happened.

the singer didn’t have a clue on how to deal with this, but he figured he’d manage. 

murdoc groans at another wave of nausea hits before he makes a choked noise, lifting himself up a bit more, doubling over the toilet bowl and puking his guts out. alarmed, 2d jolts into action, kneeling next to murdoc as he holds his fringe out of his face and soothes a hand down his back. they sit in a semi-comfortable silence (aside from murdoc’s noises) in their sort of embrace as the bassist empties out all the poison from the night before. after about three or four rounds, he thinks it’s safe to pull back and lean against the wall. 2d sits next to him with a concerned expression, eyes wandering down to the older man’s wounds..

“Feelin’ better, mate?” he finally speaks up. murdoc grunts, hissing with pain when he tries to get up and puts weight on his bad leg. 2d frowns and rummages around in his pocket, then taps a few pills into his hand, offering them to murdoc, who swallows them dry.

murdoc thanks him, and after a few moments of silence, he tries to get up again, nearly falling before 2d catches him. turns the sink on, swishes some water around in his mouth to get the taste of stomach acid out.

“Wanna go lay down?” the singer says softly, and murdoc nods. he helps the bassist over to his bed, laying down next to him. 2d knew that just having someone nearby helped him, but he left him enough space to be comfortable.  
murdoc sighs in relief, running a hand through his greasy hair. it was nice to lay on something comfortable after a night of sleep in a bathtub. 

he keeps glancing over at 2d, though, and eventually the taller man catches on, chuckling softly before wrapping an arm around murdoc’s shoulder and pulling him close. murdoc makes a noise that sounds like “shut up,” but gladly shuffles closer, nuzzling into the crook of 2d’s neck and draping an arm over his chest.

he didn’t know if his affection towards his frontman was friendly or romantic. he never really wanted to think about it, anyways. it was just nice being held sometimes. 

after a bit more shuffling into a position that doesn’t put as much weight on murdoc’s left leg, the two fall into a comfortable silence, and 2d yawns. he might be able to get some more sleep after all. just as he’s about to drift off, he feels the singer gently turn his arm over, running his thumb over the raised scars gently. it was nice to have them acknowledged, in a way, and the touch was soothing.

“D’you wanna talk about it?” 2d offered, and murdoc thought for a moment, weighed his options. on one hand, he hated talking about, well, those things. on the other, he didn’t want to push away a helping hand again. he might’ve teared up a bit.

“Later,” the bassist mumbled into 2d’s chest, who made a small sound of acknowledgement. 

murdoc hoped he stayed until then.

—

2d does.

they chat, smoke, and drink for a while, a record playing in the background. he vaguely remembers spilling everything to a slightly overwhelmed 2d who didn’t quite know how to respond, sobbing into his shirt between shots of tequila. joking about his shitty childhood, then breaking down when 2d asked if he was okay. the answer should have been obvious (he wasn’t), but it was more the thought behind it, he supposed. 

it was nice to have someone listen.


End file.
